


Computer Guru

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: sexy_right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John IS a luddite, after all.  And Matt’s sure it’s awfully handy for him to have his very own computer expert in the house.  And John is trying.</p>
<p>Except for how he’s really, really not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Computer Guru

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's sexy_right community "Fic Tac Toe", for the prompt 'established'
> 
> * * *

Matt doesn’t mind helping John out with his computer issues. 

He really doesn’t.

At least that’s what he tells himself the first time John pulls him away from his coding to help him increase the screen size on his email client. And the second time, when John drags him away from his favourite game because he needs to know how to insert a graph into some document for the department. And again the third time, when John interrupts his conversation with a potential client because he can’t print the new photo that Jack just sent him. 

He keeps telling himself that he doesn’t mind, even after the fourth (frozen screen), fifth (email attachment) and sixth (blocked website) occasions. 

John IS a luddite, after all. And Matt’s sure it’s awfully handy for him to have his very own computer expert in the house. And John is trying.

Except for how he’s really, really not.

And it’s kind of getting on Matt’s nerves.

“Matt,” John calls out.

Matt thinks about quickly slamming his earbuds in and pretending he didn’t hear, or possibly ducking down behind the sofa and duck-walking it to the kitchen door and out to the street. But considering John’s desk is only about five feet away from the sofa and John’s a hell of a lot quicker than he is, neither option is apt to end well.

He suppresses a sigh and glances across the room instead. 

“How do I send this report to more than one department?”

Yeah, really kind of getting on his nerves.

“Okay,” Matt says. He folds his newspaper neatly, pulls himself from his seat. “You don’t actually want me to help you.”

John arches a brow. “I don’t?”

“No,” Matt says firmly. “You want me to do it for you. And then the next time you have a problem, you’ll want me to fix that as well. Instead of learning how to master this technology – which is really not that hard, John, honest – you continually resort to using me as your in-house IT department, and I don’t mind, really, I get it, this is what I do for a living, but it’s not like this is brain surgery, John! You do harder shit than this every day—“

John holds up a hand. “Fine, motormouth. You wanna teach me?”

“Yes! Thank you!” Matt breathes out. He waits until John slides back a little so he can pull up the second chair, shakes his hair out of his eyes. “First, we’re going to start with a little lesson on email itself,” he begins. He’s halfway through describing the various tabs and functions on Hotmail – and internally debating when would be a good time to transition John to an email client that’s actually decent – when he feels John’s fingers in his hair. He does his best to continue, but when John’s fingers trail down to his nape and linger there, he shivers and turns in his chair. 

“Are you paying attention?” he asks. 

John shrugs. “Was just thinking.”

“Okay.”

“You know, you could teach me this stuff. It’ll probably take about an hour, ‘cause I ain’t that bright about this computer shit.”

Matt shakes his head. “That’s not true, you’re—“

“Or,” John interrupts, “you could just do it for me. Just,” he waves a hand, “attach the thingy there so it gets sent to all the right departments at Central. Probably take you about two minutes.”

“But—“

“And then I could use the remaining fifty-eight minutes to fuck you into the mattress.”

John’s fingers are still ruffling through the hair at the nape of his neck. Barely touching. Just enough to remind him of how very talented those fingers are. Along with the rest of John McClane.

Right. John hasn’t been getting on his nerves _that_ much.

His fingers fly across the keyboard, and he snorts at John’s amazed expression before he grips the front of John’s T-shirt and drags him out of the chair, pushes him toward the sofa.

“Mattress is too far away,” Matt mumbles. 

He swallows John’s answering laugh in a kiss.


End file.
